


The Redefinition

by forgotten_constellation



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Chef Harry Potter, Ex-Auror Harry Potter, Family Drama, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Harry Potter Next Generation, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Married Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, POV Alternating, Parseltongue, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Self-Indulgent, Stay-At-Home Parent Draco Malfoy, like seriously i'm the target audience for this, the kids are all siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27628289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgotten_constellation/pseuds/forgotten_constellation
Summary: When Lucius’ wife passes away and his health begins to fail him, he is taken in by his estranged son and the family he gave up the Malfoy name for.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 18
Kudos: 181





	1. James

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been reading Next Gen fic for years, certainly before Cursed Child. I never read Cursed Child though, and Al and Scorpius are literally twins in this, so this is 100% not canon. None of this is canon, obviously. This fic is planned out and mostly finished, and my goal is to post one chapter a week until it's complete, but no promises. Pandemic life is kicking my butt. That said, I hope you enjoy this!

**I**

The healers say Lucius Malfoy is staring down a stint in St. Mungo’s for the rest of his life if nobody takes him in, so their dads tentatively run it past them through letters and firecalls. 

“He hates us, though,” Lily complains. 

They’re all gathered under the invisibility cloak atop the Astronomy Tower, because they’ve been scolded one too many times for sharing passwords and barging into each other’s common rooms, and they all like to glance up at the stars sometimes, wondering if maybe they can’t catch sight of the constellations Father is so fond of. 

“No he doesn’t,” James protests, and it sounds weak even to his own ears, “he just doesn’t know us.” 

“ _Nan_ knew us,” Scorpius points out, sullen. 

It’s always been a quiet point of contention for Scorpius. Nan made every effort to get to know them, had babysat and spoiled and corralled them as much as any other person in their sprawling family, dividing her time between them and her husband. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to say anything bad about him, and clearly he loved her, if the way his magic is failing after her death is any indication. But Scorpius has always been the most kindhearted of all of them, the most protective, and hasn’t ever been able to wrap his head around the power of Pureblood convention--or the way Nan had broken so many of those to be in their lives, however much they began to wane following the war.

James glances over at Albus, staring pensively at his hands. “What do you think, Al?” 

Al surprises them all by saying, “I think we should do it.” 

James counts down from three in his head. His siblings burst into a flurry of furious whispers. 

“Can’t be serious--” “We met him twice and he called us _numbers_ , Al, _order of birth_ , Al,” “I just think maybe it could bring Father some closure,” “We’re his closure, we’re his favorite people on Earth, he loves taking care of us,” “He had a chance, you know Nan brought him so many photos,” 

And before it can deteriorate even further, James casts a risky sonorous charm and says, “ _Chill out!_ ” 

They nervously wait for repercussions. Hearing nothing immediate, the tension leaves their bodies.

“Well, what do you think, James?” Scorpius asks. 

James scratches the back of his neck. “Erm.” 

Lily is staring at him with her keen gray eyes. She’s always been able to suss him out pretty quick. “You think we should do it, too.” 

At the rising protests stumbling from their mouths, he presses his wand against his neck. “I’ll have Peeves giving us all detention, see if I won’t!” 

“Stop, I'm on your side! You’re no fun when you’re trying to be a good big brother!” Al blurts out. 

A laugh punches itself out of his chest. Scorpius grins. Then they’re all sharing breathless chuckles under the comforting weight of the cloak. 

“Well I don’t like it. But I figure if, if. If he doesn’t have a lot of time left and it might be good for Father, it could be worth it. And I mean, he doesn’t like us tainted half-bloods, anyway, maybe he won't talk to us,” He says, in a weak attempt at humor. 

He gets three crooked smiles in return, all Dad. He’s probably making the same face right back at them.

“This is going to be awful, isn’t it?” Scorpius asks. 

“Well, grandchild number three,” Lily says, in a goofy approximation of their grandfather’s highborn drawl, “it hasn’t been decided yet. We’re cut down the middle.” 

“No way. James counts for, like, three votes.” Albus says, hotly. 

James laughs again, despite himself. “I know I’m amazing, but let’s not go that far.” 

They decide to put all their worries into a letter and send it off for their parents. They get a reply a few days later, along with the sweets Dad makes only for them. 

_How about we give it a go for the Christmas holidays?_ Dad wrote, in his awful chicken scratch. 

Some of James’ fondest earliest memories are of Father tutting over that, reaching out to slap one pale hand against Dad’s when he messed up a cursive letter. “Stop it, I won’t have you making my children write like common fools,” he’d say, an amused dimple creasing his cheek despite himself at Dad’s grumbled complaints. Now, dad’s iconic print is a staple on all his products, something the wizarding world at large views with affection. The Boy Who Lived, ex-Auror and chef extraordinaire, equipped with possibly the world’s worst handwriting.

“I don’t want to,” Scorpius says, an unhappy flush on his face.

“Me either, Scor. But it’s the right thing to do, don’t you think?” James says. And, it’s a low blow, but he adds, “Let’s do it for Nan.” 

There are no more complaints after that. 

**II**

James is the top student in his year. He gets bored easily and can’t help reading ahead. It still drives Rose nutty, even though they’re not even in the same year, that he can do so with little apparent effort and a dreadful penchant for pranks. What with his exemplary reputation, OWLs coming up soon, and a little weedling from his parents, he’s allowed to go home a little early for the break. Were it under literally any other circumstances, he knows his siblings would be raking him over the coals for it. 

Instead, they all huddle around him for a famous Potter squeeze, much to the amusement of onlookers. _The lanky Gryffindor standing tall above his Slytherin twin brothers and Ravenclaw sister, a true Hogwarts rainbow,_ he’d remembered someone writing for the Daily Prophet, after some student hoping for a quick buck took photo after photo of them huddling affectionately.

Dad and Father are there to greet him when he comes back. Dad ruffles his hair and pulls him into a hug, and Father brushes his fringe aside to kiss his forehead in greeting, happy as ever to see him. It seems like every time they see him, they have to look up a little further to meet his eyes. (“Still room left to grow, too, dear,” Nan had said, a little before she passed, squaring her shoulders in the same exact show of quiet pride that Father often does with them.) 

“You’d better stop getting taller, James, before your Father knocks you down to size,” Dad jokes. 

“It’s all your fault I’m like this, knock yourselves!” James whines, cherishing the laughs this gets him.

“Come eat something, love,” Father says, absently, pulling him into the kitchen. The familiar smell of dad’s cooking lulls some of the anxiety that had been building in his stomach. With a pop, Kreacher appears at his side, wordlessly offering him a plate of sliced apples, his favorite snack since childhood. 

“Thanks, Kreacher,” James says, touched. 

Dad said it took a lot for Kreacher to bounce back from his life with the Black family. He’s still a crotchety old thing, but he’s protective of them all, humbly saving the salary Dad gives him for little dancing figurines in his room, books, clothes, and not much else aside from the occasional Christmas gift. James is suddenly and intensely afraid that Lucius Malfoy will be unkind to him. He smiles at the elf and is one second away from stuffing an apple slice into his mouth before Father gives him a pointed look and tells him to wait until Dad’s served them dinner. Kreacher nods at him and shuffles off, muttering to himself. Dad sets plates--a simple lasagna verde, James’ favorite--and his worries are momentarily forgotten.

  
  
  


**III**

James doesn’t remember much from when Dad was an Auror. He’d made history with how early he quit. He had a truly promising record, one that Uncle Ron says is still held over the heads of new Auror recruits.

It’s a habit of Al’s to collect news clippings from the past, and they paint a clear picture of his success. He’d been staring down a swift rise in the ranks. He could have been the youngest head Auror in all of Wizarding Britain, some day. 

James’ memories of that time are spotty. He’d been all of five years old, the twins a bratty terrible two, when the vengeful partner of one of Dad’s biggest targets abducted Father. Father is a powerful magic user in his own right, and his bond with Dad’s magic is a big help, but he’d still been taken. Unbeknownst to him, he’d been carrying Lily, which left him vulnerable. They’d spent days on end with Nan bossing them around the Potter cottage, dad tired and snappy and worried and so grateful to her. 

Father had been found after a series of intense raids that left Dad with a few new scars on his face. St. Mungo’s declared Father healthy, if a little underfed, congratulated him on the new baby, and then let him come home. 

The day of Father’s return was the one time Lucius Malfoy stepped foot in their cottage. He’d arrived to pick up an exhausted Nan, stared imperiously down at where she had a twin cradled under each arm with James clinging to her legs, and then asked Father if he was “quite alright” as Dad led him inside. 

Father had reached out for the twins, laughing tiredly as they curled into him, and knelt down to press his forehead against James’. 

“Never better, Lucius.”

After that, the newspapers chronicled, with increasing nervousness, Dad’s paternity leave. Then he’d resigned all together, much to the shock and frustration of the wizarding world. What were they do without the Boy Who Lived fighting crime? 

James’ favorite newspaper clipping is of dad standing outside the Ministry in casual clothing, tiredly running his hand over his face, before mouthing the headline, “My obligation is to myself and my family first.”

A year later, after Lily was born, he’d started his own restaurant, simply named “Potter’s.” Dad doesn’t speak much about the muggles who raised him, “But they taught me how to cook well enough, I suppose.” 

**IV**

The second time James saw his grandfather was at Nan’s funeral. 

He’d greeted them with a shaky nod and a polite enough, “Potters,” looking about as ghoulish as James had ever seen him, and he’d seen clippings from his Azkaban trials. It was a small, private ceremony, but there were enough Weasleys and family and friends about to make Father, Scorpius, and especially Lucius stand out with their distinctive white blond hair. Lucius stood away from everyone else, and did not speak unless spoken to, but he’d listened to guests talk about his wife with an open hunger. 

Narcissa Malfoy had never quite “fit in” --she stood out at the Burrow, she’d tutted disapprovingly over the cottage Dad had restored and spelled larger on the inside rather than live in wizarding London, she’d been deeply confused by all the muggle technology they used, and she could sometimes be heavy handed with punishments. But she tried. She’d spoiled them all, had taken them on trips around the wizarding world, and happily stepped in to watch over them when Dad and Father needed (or wanted) to be somewhere other than home. 

So everyone had a story to tell. Molly at turns bawled and laughed her way through the time Lily convinced Nan to take up the broom only for the both of them to repeatedly crash into the Burrow’s surrounding fields. They’d been covered with grass and bruises and positively shrieking with laughter, and to this day it is still the loudest Nan had ever been in James’ memory. Teddy talks about a wry conversation they’d had about the Black family, and how maybe none of it had really mattered as long as they all ended up happy enough in their little mismatched family. Aunt Ginny points out that James had sicked up on some of Narcissa's most beautiful dress robes as a colicy baby and she’d briefly held him at arms’ length and unironically said, “Well. You are _quite_ lucky that I love you,” and Uncle Percy talks about how the twins kept pranking her with Peace Disturbers just to see her startle, and how she’d visibly have to tamp down on her frustration so she could say, “Come now, boys,” in that cheerful and terribly intimidating way of hers. 

James relearned his grandmother at her funeral, and he will always wonder how much of her Lucius Malfoy learned that day, too.

After asking their parents for a moment alone with them, Lucius had them stand in a line in order of birth and gifted each of them with small heirlooms, haughtily saying, Grandchild number one (James received the Black family grimoire), grandchild number two (Albus got a ring practically vibrating with protective charms), grandchild number three (Scorpius was given a silver dragon figurine, which would release a burst of controlled magical flame with prompting), and lingered briefly over Luna (the first time he’d seen her in person) before drawling out “Grandchild number _four_.” 

Sniffling, she’d tilted her head up at him in defiant askance, only for him to clasp Nan’s favorite emerald pendant around her neck. 

Then he’d apparated away. 

**V**

It’s a quiet morning when Dad and Father decide to go pick up the grandfather James has only seen in passing.

After stalling by pestering him about school, they finally prepare. Dad slowly wraps his scarf around Father’s neck, then pauses to rub his thumb along Father’s cheekbone. “Still as lovely as the day I married you,” he hums. 

Father rolls his eyes. “Shut it, Potter.” 

Dad’s brows rise. “I know you are, but what am I?” 

He gets the “I hate that I want to laugh” dimple from Father. They kiss. It’s gross. It makes James smile. 

There’s this vibrating energy of nervousness about them as they both glance over at him. “Alright, then, James?” Dad asks, worriedly.

“Yep. I’ll be here.” James says, giving him a thumbs up. 

Because James is very, very nervous, he passes the time in the gardens hissing with the snakes that come to visit them from time to time. What with James’ passion for Herbology and all of the Potter children’s hidden Parseltongue talent, Father’s burgeoning home potion’s business has a serious leg up in the market. He’d been suffering intensely from an empty nest the moment they put Lily on the express, and he hates to show up in Dad’s restaurant during the day because he knows he’ll be gawped at, but the notoriety of his past and his current private nature builds quite the business intrigue.

“I think my grandfather hates me,” James tells a lovely barred grass snake Lily had dubbed Code. 

Her baffled response is to ask why someone would hate their own legacy. He shrugs and says he thinks maybe his blood isn’t pure enough. She tells him, in all her infinite snake wisdom, that this is perhaps one of the stupidest things a human has ever told her. He agrees. 

He hears the familiar crack of apparition and makes his nervous way back inside.

Lucius Malfoy stands in the foyer with his hand curled around his gleaming walking stick, back straight. For some reason, James scrambles to fix his posture and hides his hands behind his back, because there’s probably dirt underneath his fingernails. 

“Mr. Malfoy. Erm, sir. Lord. Nice to see you again.” James sputters. 

Over his grandfather’s square shoulders, he can see Dad leveling him with an amused look. 

The ghost of an unfriendly smile curls on Lucius Malfoy’s lips. “I’m your grandfather, boy. You may as well call me that.” 

“Okay, erm. Grandfather.” 

“And how old are you?” 

“Fifteen this past month, sir.” 

“And what are your talents?” 

“Well, I’m at the top of my class. I'm good at everything, sir,” It’s an answer, and an honest one, which he hopes is enough to distract from what is no doubt the root question: do you have a frivolous dream or not? Somehow he feels like talking about his love for Herbology won’t go over well with a man who once held an ancestral Wizengamot seat. He vows not to be seen in the gardens for a little while. He gets the brief, stupid urge to see if the snake on Lucius’ walking stick will answer to him. They’ve been able to get fake snakes to talk to them, with some success, depending on how magical they are. Maybe that will make the tightness around Lucius’ eyes lessen? 

Father, by now used to seeing a foolish idea growing in James’ eyes, tactfully intervenes. “Why don’t I show you to your rooms, Lucius?”

James deflates with relief. Father gives him a tired, affectionate little smile before the two of them disappear through the cozy halls of the Potter cottage. 

Dad walks up to him with a sigh. “How are you, son?” 

James gives him a hopeless little shrug, amused despite himself. “This is going to be _so_ weird.” 

Dad breathes out a deep sigh. “Merlin, I know. You let me know right away if he says anything weird to you and your siblings, okay?” 

He totally won’t. “Sure, dad.” 

Dad pulls him close, ruffles his hair. He mutters about how James is growing like a reed and it's getting harder and harder to reach him, and James feels a bit like everything is going to be okay.


	2. Albus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cleaned this chapter up faster than I was expecting to so I figured I would go ahead and post it early. Thanks for your interest and comments! They're a big motivator to keep writing.

**I**

Even though he’d been the one to suggest opening their home to Lucius Malfoy, Al has a brief, hysterical moment where he considers signing up to stay at school for the holiday. It would be so easy. He could do it with Scorpius none the wiser and just avoid the rest when it’s time to come home. 

But then he gets one of Father’s weekly letters, and it feels like his heart’s about to burst out of his chest with the way he can tell Father’s excited to see them all again, and he decides to just suck it up and deal. Dad said they’d give it a go, and the Christmas holiday is only a little over two weeks. He can deal with it. 

If nothing else, coming home is worth it so he can step through the door and give Father a tight, obnoxious hug. He can feel Father’s laugh rumble through him as a slender hand scores through his hair.

Dad says, “I don’t get a hug like that? I see how it is,” and when Al shifts over to give him the same tight embrace, he lets out a light _oof_ as Scorpius and Lily pile onto them, grumbling about stealing the spotlight. Then, like magnets, the two of them shift over to Father, who lets out a laugh and squeezes them back. 

Al knows they’re a little sheltered. After everything their parents went through, how could they not be? The Potter cottage has been under fidelus charm for as long as he can remember, and he has one too many early memories of being accosted by especially advantageous members of the press. His first year, he’d cried for half the journey to Hogwarts because it meant not having Dad’s home cooked food, and no family quidditch, and especially no sleepy sideways hugs or Father’s distracted forehead kisses. Being the child of famous people builds a thick skin, but he still has moments where he wishes things were a little easier. 

After unpacking, they’re lead to the family room. Father has a weakness for trash telly, and sure enough, a goofy reality tv show is playing lowly in the background. Emboldened by the customary entitlement of a youngest child, Lily elbows and bullies her way to Father’s other side when Dad sits down beside him, and then throws her legs over both of their laps with a victorious huff. 

“Where’s James?” She chirps.

“In his room studying for the OWLs,” Father explains.

“And, uh, Lucius?” Scorpius asks, lips pulled into a frown. 

Dad scowls. “He hasn’t left his quarters for a few days. Kreacher delivers his meals. He does genuinely need rest, but I can’t help but feel like he’s being mysterious on purpose.” 

Father laughs quietly at that, gently running a hand through Lily’s bright red locks. She already looks halfway to a nap, which tells Al she’d been more anxious than she let on. When Lily’s really upset, the first thing she does is drop off into sleep. 

“He’s in shock.” Father says. 

And Al wants to ask, from what? It has been half a year since Nan died, and none of them are over it. That would be reasonable. But where is the shock coming from? Suddenly having a new family? Staying somewhere other than his ancestral home? Not having power over everything at any given time? 

“Maybe we should invite him down to dinner tonight.” Al suggests, instead. 

To his surprise, Scorpius adds, “We can tell him a bit about how we’re doing in school. And the restaurant,, and Father’s potions.” 

If anyone is good at getting people to talk, it’s Scorpius. He’s bright and talkative and charming in a disarmingly friendly way. Al has seen him coax even the most taciturn professors into quirking a smile, because coming from Scorpius--chatty, dubious Slytherin extraordinaire--the friendliness was always completely honest. He’s a lot like Dad in that way, if less sarcastic. 

They agree on it. Dad gently dislodges himself from the couch, and when Lily shifts discontentedly in her sleep, Father shushes her, pulling out his wand and summoning a blanket to wrap around her shoulders. Al thinks Father would raise them all over again if he had the chance. Maybe it’s a bit selfish, but he really likes that, the simple and earnest power of that love. He wonders what was missing in the grand halls of the Malfoy manor. The thought of not having Father in his life for so long, of calling him by his name like they’re acquaintances and not family, makes his stomach drop nervously.

He’s dismayed when their offer of dinner is accepted. Maybe he should stop saying things, because they keep coming true. 

It starts well enough. Lucius asks them the same questions James said he was asked. 

“We’re thirteen, sir. I’d like to be an Unspeakable.” Scorpius says.

“I haven’t given it much thought,” Al says, honestly. 

He shrinks back at the narrow-eyed look this gets him. Dad says, “He’s got a lot of time to think about it.”

Lily butts in with a, “Second year Ravenclaw. I want to make music.” 

“Music,” Lucius echoes, his eyes narrowing further. 

“Lily plays twelve instruments,” Scorpius adds, helpfully, “and she’s learning more.” 

“I can play for you if you want,” She mumbles, suddenly finding her chicken tikka masala extremely interesting. 

“Were you able to make good progress with the Transcendental Etudes?” James asks her, gently. 

He knows that getting her started with music is a good way to get any conversation flowing. Sure enough, Lily complains about how her fingers are hurting, and then Father frets that she’s overdoing it, and then she says maybe _he’s_ overdoing it with his potions, and then they’re nowhere near the topic they started with. Dad talks about the silly request he got to make a magically shifting cake, apparently to surprise a “BAD MAGIC CHEATER,” Scorpius is sick with laughter remembering the way Al had once ruined their potion in class not once, not twice, but three times, until their professor had vanished it completely and asked them to try again on the weekend. 

Al watches Lucius as surreptitiously as he can. His face is schooled into one of calm indifference, and yet his eyes follow each speaker. In certain lights, he almost looks sad.  
  
  


**II**

The first old Daily Prophet article Al ever clipped was one of his grandmother, doing that thing she always did with her shoulders when she was happy or proud: breathing in deep and squaring them back. She’d brought it over to show him, after he asked a question about what she looked like when she was young. She’d tutted and said, “I _am_ young, dear boy,” but then she’d brought the neatly folded Daily Prophet with her the next time she visited. It was a brief interview on her engagement to one Lucius Malfoy. She’d been surprised when he asked if he could keep it, had cupped his cheeks and murmured about how sentimentality ran in the family. He’d been eight years old.

In the photo, she’s got an expensive fur-lined coat folded over her arms, and her painted lips pull up into a bright smile as she turns her head to the side. It had always seemed to Albus that nobody on the planet could ever hope to be as beautiful and well-mannered as his Nan, and in seeing this photo for the first time, he’d felt a burst of what he can now identify as pride. Glancing at it now, pinned in a place of honor by his bedroom window, Al just feels a little sick. 

It’s a thought that he’s been trying not to entertain, but he can’t help but feel like the man she’d been so excited to marry had killed her. Not directly, of course, not on purpose, but throwing herself in with him had painted a target on her back from two different sides, and it had only been a matter of time before someone followed through. 

Both Dad and Father are open enough about the war when they’re asked about it, but they rarely talk about it unprompted. All four of them came to hate the dejected looks on their faces enough that they stopped asking about it. Al picked up his clipping habit with voracity, to compensate. A burst of mean-spirited inspiration has him plucking up an article on the post-war trials and knocking on his grandfather’s door, with every intention of asking as many questions about his involvement with the Dark Lord as he could muster before invariably getting kicked out. 

When Lucius opens the door, his eyebrows tilt up in surprise. 

“Albus Severus,” he says in greeting, draining Al of all the frustration building in his chest. 

Nan always called them by their first and middle names, sing-songy and loving, as close to a nickname they’d ever get from her. Al and the rest have speculated wildly on whether or not Lucius ever paid any real attention to all the photos and stories she took home. Being confronted with evidence that at least some of it got through makes Al fold the clipping and shove it into his pocket. 

“Why didn’t you ever come see us?” He asks, which is probably the question he actually wanted to ask anyway. 

Lucius’ lips thin. “Getting right to it, I see.” 

“Well, you live here.” Al says, a bit of hysteria tinging the laugh that bubbles up. 

Lucius observes him for some time. Al wonders what he thinks about what he sees. He’s got Dad’s messy hair, so he keeps it short, lest it obscure his vision, and Dad’s same bright green eyes. Professor Finnegan had absently called him “Harry” so much his first year that he’d bashfully stuck to calling him by his last name. But he is as much Draco Malfoy’s son as Harry Potter’s, and he is as much this man’s family as any other random pureblood walking around with their noble and ancient blood. 

“Sometimes you may never get the answers to the questions you conjure up in your head. Allowing yourself to be held hostage by the past can be your undoing. Move forward with confidence.” Lucius speaks lowly enough that Al has to strain to hear him.

He’s not satisfied with that answer. He hates that he can see some of his father in Lucius’ straight nose and steely eyes. “That sounds a lot like running from consequences.” 

To his surprise, Lucius gives him a half smile. “A clever person might call it… compartmentalization.”

**III**

The garden is more James and Father’s haunt, but Al finds himself spending more time there talking to the snakes. Apparently James got them all up in a tizzy sharing some of the family gossip, so now they all gather like muggles sitting a sermon the moment one of them comes out. 

This is how Scorpius finds him, kneeling along the snakes by the valerian sprigs. His twin surprises him by hissing out that he caught Dad and Father making out and he doesn’t know how he’s going to cope. Al snickers at the truly green look on Scorpius’ pale face, and also because he recognizes it as an attempt to cheer him up. He was definitely listening. The garden snakes curl around his ankles as he approaches, bringing him into the fold, asking his perspective on stupid human family politics. 

They hold court with their snake friends, and also catch up on how the break is going.

“I talked to grandfather the other day,” Scorpius tells him. 

“How can you call him that?” Al interjects, scrunching up his nose. 

Scorpius lets out a little laugh. “He told me to.” 

Al had been told to do the same thing, but generally he tries his best not to address Lucius at all if he can help it.

“What’d you talk about?” 

“He asked how Father’s doing. Apparently they haven’t spoken much.” 

“Can you blame him?” Al snorts.

This gets him a chorus of agreeing hisses from the snakes below, startling him into the realization that they’d been talking in Parseltongue the whole time. It gets hard to tell what language they’re speaking when they’re all doing it. They’ve done the same thing when Father gets frustrated and starts fussing at them in French. When they have nights at the Burrow they often get into side conversations with Victoire, Dominique, and Louis, which usually takes Dad intervening in his awful French to get them to stop. 

“Al, I think you’re forgetting that this was half your idea.” Scorpius points out, in English, like he’s making a point. 

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it, does it?” 

“Do you regret it?” 

He answers _maybe a little bit_ in Parseltongue. Scorpius gives him a pained smile, so Al knows he agrees. He’s so bad at not wearing his heart on his sleeve. 

“Anyway, he also asked if we’d been, um, ‘presented’ to other families. And I said no, why on Earth would we need that, and he said well what will you do if you want to get married? And I said, marry someone I love, I expect. He looked like he was going to explode.” Scorpius says, a wheezing laugh taking him on the last few words. 

“Do you know, this morning Dad asked him if he wanted to see muggle London with him on the way to get some supplies for the restaurant, and he yelled for Kreacher and asked him to bring him the Prophet, like he hadn’t heard Dad at all.” Al confesses, guilty amusement pulling a grin onto his face. 

They cackle helplessly in the gardens together, years of habit pulling them into weeding the garden. Father finds them there like that, and lets out a little noise of discontent when he sees them all covered in nosy snakes. Scorpius sends them away, and then they have a silly little moment of twin telepathy and present their handful of weeds for Father’s inspection. 

The tightness on his face softens immediately. He reaches out and accepts the impromptu gifts, and then laughs when they smile up at him. “All right, you little demons. Keep your secrets.”

**IV**

They have to get used to a healer stopping by every other day to check in on Lucius. Al, who has gone his entire life seeing only a certain set of faces in his home, is pretty nervous about it. Who knows who’s talking to who? How far can the secret of a fidelus be stretched? There’s another pit of fears that whisper that they might be going to another funeral soon. 

Unable to handle the suspense of being left in the dark, he finds himself knocking on Lucius’ door once again, after the healer shares a brief conversation with Father under a privacy charm and then leaves in a bit of a hurry. Lucius opens the door. 

“Albus Severus.” 

“Are you dying?” Al asks. 

Lucius stares at him in open wonder, then, before his eyes roll up to the ceiling like he might be able to find patience there. Father does that a lot.

“Come in.” He says, opening his door. 

Albus, nothing if not nosy, walks nervously inside. Lucius’ quarters are sparsely but elegantly decorated, the high walls painted a light turquoise. There’s a writing desk by the window, and a fainting couch nestled into the far corner. Lucius’ large bed is covered with silky curtains. The en suite and attached private room are opposite each other, and Al is briefly thrown by how bare they are. As younger kids, he and his siblings made a competition out of decorating their doors as garishly as possible, and change it every year. 

There are a few photo frames on the desk. Al walks over to it, tears springing unexpectedly to his eyes. There are a few photos of both Nan and Father that he’s never seen before. There’s one of Father standing proud with an old broom, looking so much like Scorpius that it’s scary. There’s one of Lucius, Nan, and Father standing proud in front of the infamous albino peacocks of Father’s childhood, the ones who’d apparently liked biting just a little bit too much. There’s another one of Nan tilting her head with a little smile, and one of Father in Slytherin robes.

Lucius is watching him as Al wipes at his face and backs away. “Marriages are meant to be advantageous. Marrying your grandmother was… heavily encouraged by my father, despite the Blacks’ abhorrent penchant for madness. Narcissa and I didn’t marry for love. That came afterwards. What do you know about magical bonds?” 

“They usually grow organically. Doesn’t always have to be a couple.” Al answers. 

Lucius gives him that mean smile again. “Yes, I wonder what we would see of the bond between your twin?”

Al doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything. 

After a beat of silence, Lucius continues. “When you live with someone for a long time, and love them very dearly, your magic becomes entangled. More skilled wizards can draw from each other. Sometimes the lines are blurred. As you can expect, bonds between purebloods are much stronger than others.” 

Al can’t contain his scoff at that. “Sure, okay.” 

He’s so stupid. This is frustrating. He hates it. To his horror, more tears sting the back of his eyes, and he rubs tiredly at them. 

“Contrary to what you may believe, boy, you and Draco and your siblings were not the only people who loved Narcissa,” Lucius tells him, sharply, “stop crying, this instant. Look at me.” 

Al hopes all his anger is shining in eyes. He hopes that he looks so much like Dad that Lucius hates it. 

“Choose who you interact with wisely. Your namesake was known to prattle on at length about the power of love, and perhaps he was right, in the end. But always remember that it just might kill you someday.” 

**V**

Lucius surprises them all by joining them for Christmas morning. Unwilling to sit on the floor, he transfigures a nearby coat rack into a chair and watches from a distance. 

If Al had to call anything in their family sacred, it’s the Christmas they have before beginning their rounds with family friends. Dad hadn’t had a real Christmas until he started Hogwarts, and Father’s had always been solemn little affairs marked with pomp and circumstance, save the private gifts Nan would give him when they had a moment alone. They sit by the tree and watch those awful old stop-motion animations that Father is so fascinated by, even the one where there’s a donkey with ears too long for its head.

Al remembers one of his roommates being baffled when he learned that the Potter children got maybe four presents max, each, on Christmas day. “Aren’t you rich?” He’d asked. And sure, they are. But they also have a huge family to give them gifts as well, and they want for very little. They are lucky. 

Al watches as they sleepily exchange gifts and giggle quietly over the silly little messages they’d penned each other. Father bullies Dad relentlessly for his awful handwriting, as usual. Kreacher brings them plates of homemade eggnog and puts up his usual fight about there being presents for him, but then he snaps his fingers and summons the gifts they know he bought for them, and then leaves, having suffered his daily quota of odd wizards and their affection.

Kreacher gave them his usual gifts. He’d taken up collecting little figures, and the ones for this year are spelled to follow brief cycles of movement. Lily’s is a violin; Al’s a coiling jade snake (which he can’t wait to talk to later); James’ a bulbous, shuddering cactus; and Scorpius grins at the yawning, stretching tiger in his hand. They’ve all got growing collections on their desks, and Al knows Kreacher likes to see them when he pops into their rooms to clean, even though he’ll never admit it. As is their tradition, they all got Kreacher some clothes--a reminder.

James gets an assortment of books on Herbology, which he accepts with a brief glance at Lucius and no small amount of pleasure. He also gets a stack of the newest PlayStation games, which Lily immediately declares a “group gift.” Scorpius gets the Potions kit he’s been wanting for some time now, hoping to brush up on the subjects he needs to excel in for work as an Unspeakable. Lily gets a gorgeous new guitar with a glamour on it that changes to accommodate the emotions of its player; when she strums a light, unthinking tune on it, it glitters bright pink. Al is surprised to be given the newest wizarding and muggle cameras. He’s hinted at an interest in photography, but never to the point where he’d expect his parents to encourage it. The thought of creating pictures instead of collecting them is exciting. 

They all put their money and their secrecy together to present Dad and Father with a pensieve, which earns them all a tight group hug. Coordinating that had been no easy task. 

From Lucius (on a gift labelled _Potters and_ _Grandchild 1-4_ , which makes James snort inelegantly), they are given a tightly bound book. 

“Your grandmother kept quite the record of you all for me to look over. Sometimes she wrote about you. As I shall have no use for it soon, I thought you might want to see it.” He explains.

Al absently turns page after page. There is a copy of pretty much every family photo they have. He watches himself grow up in little boxes, from nappies to curly-haired and pouty on the quidditch pitch at age six, to shuffling nervously before his first day on the Hogwarts express, and then distractedly cutting away at a pile of newspapers. His siblings undergo the same transformation. There are quite a few photos of Dad--of him standing outside his newly opened restaurant, and then leaning over to whisper privately into Father’s ear at a Ministry function, or him sleepily cradling one baby or the other in his arms with his glasses askew. There are even more photos of Father. Al loves the ones where the wave of his hair (inherited from Nan) are the most pronounced: him bending pensively over a cauldron with the steam curling into his face, or after a moment on the broom with Dad, or clad in pajamas while bellowing down the stairs after a James covered in chocolate. It reminds him of growing up. 

Sometimes Nan stuck little asides next to the photos, or brief little reports. Al reads, _“Albus Severus taught me another of those muggle message faces today. :-)”_ and feels like his heart just grew about three sizes bigger.  


Father, who’d scooted close to glance over their shoulders, lets out a sharp little breath. “Thank you, Lucius.” 

Al looks up just in time to see Lucius briefly close his eyes, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. “Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview for next chapter: 
> 
> Scorpius, who’d been extremely close to trying out Aunt Ginny’s beloved bat-bogey hex, immediately sits back on his knees. James wipes the dirt on his hands off onto his jeans, like that’s any less incriminating. 
> 
> Behind Father, the back door swings open, and out steps their Grandfather, which makes both of them tense up. “Draco, your ill-behaved progeny will not distract me from our conversation.” 
> 
> Father rounds on him, pointing his finger in Grandfather's face. “Don’t you call my children ill-behaved. They’re lovely.” 
> 
> Because James can’t seem to take most things seriously, a delighted guffaw bursts from his chest. Scorpius bites his lip to contain his answering laugh.


	3. Scorpius

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays!

**I**

Father wakes Scorpius up on Boxing Day with the usual: a cup of hot chocolate. 

As a child, coming down from the emotional high of Christmas Day had always been a weirdly emotional shock for him. Father quickly learned to preempt any tears or tantrums by spending a little extra time with him, starting in the morning.

The drink is filled with all the extra marshmallows Scorpius pretends he doesn’t like, and the warm smell of it curls in his belly. Scourgifying his teeth to enjoy it to the fullest, Scorpius scoots up on his bed, pulling his duvet back so Father can perch beside him. 

“I thought you might help me in the brewery today.” Father says, softly, looking sleepy and content in his silk pajamas. 

“That’s James’ thing, though,” Scorpius says, surprised. 

Father gives him a wry look. “James has been avoiding the gardens since your grandfather moved in, so he can’t exactly help me gather all the ingredients, now can he?” 

Scorpius tries to hide his surprised look by sipping away at his drink, but he thinks Father must catch his furrowed brows, because he lets out a deep laugh and says I know, and isn’t it so weird? James isn’t one to be overly bothered with other people’s opinions. Scorpius agrees. He also once thought there was nothing that could keep James out of those gardens.

Father leaves him to finish his treat, pressing a neatly folded piece of paper on Scorpius’ desk.

The ingredients are simple enough. Half of them he knows he can find in Father’s ingredient stores, and the rest can be plucked directly from the garden. 

His brows rise when he sees ashwinder eggs. Father had fretted over collecting these very eggs over a weekend holiday. Ashwinder eggs are difficult to track, because who is going to leave the remains of a magical fire unmolested, and Father hates seeing them talk to snakes, a holdover from the worst days of the war. To them, it’d just been a jolly fun trip, gripping tight to one limb or the other in one big Potter conga line as Father side-alonged them from promising location to promising location, watching nervously as they hissed around. Once they collected enough, he’d put the eggs under stasis and lined them all up for crushing hugs, muttering about how his kids were bloody brilliant.

Scorpius pulls on some trainers and makes his way to the garden after stopping by James’ room to borrow his kit. James is fast asleep, messy haired and sprawled out on his bed, which makes Scorpius smile. 

He trims the rose thorns and liberally cuts peppermint leaves. The valerian he wraps in a neat little bundle, as well as the knot grass. He levitates them into the storage room, where he collects two eggs and finally a moonstone. 

Father already has the cauldron going when Scorpius knocks on the door to the brewery--none of them are allowed in without permission. Father spells the door open for him, and raises a brow. “Do you know what we’re making?” 

“Amortentia,” Scorpius answers, “but I thought you said you weren’t going to sell that?” 

“It’s for you, love. Need to start early with Unspeakable training, no?” 

“What if I mess it up?” Scorpius frets, as he lines up the ingredients before them. Such a powerful potion for so few ingredients. 

“I’ll be right here with you.” Father soothes, squeezing his shoulders. 

It doesn’t take long, to Scorpius’ surprise. An hour, at most, with Father murmuring instructions and warnings in his ear. They magically distill oil from the peppermint with jars and water, Father patiently instructing him through low to mid level heating charms. The thorns are put in first, and then the knot grass and valerian is ground into a paste. The potion starts off a gritty, scary-looking gray, and then they add the moonstone and it lightens, and then Father is gently batting his hands away to put in the ashwinder eggs himself. The cauldron lets out a plume of heated, fragrant smoke, before settling into a bright, iridescent sheen.

“There, not so scary, is it? Practice, that’s all it takes. We'll work on some more things like this to help you feel less overwhelmed about more complex potions.” Father says. 

Scorpius shuffles close and wraps his arms around Father’s waist. Father strokes a hand over his hair, and they stand together for a bit, smelling of mint and earth. 

“What do you smell?” Scorpius asks.

Father leans forward, then a laugh tumbles out of his chest, vibrating against the side of Scorpius’ head. “Hm. There’s this smell that babies have, at the crown of their heads? Harry thought I’d gone mad when James was born because I used to spend so much time just sniffing him. But then I made him try it, and he loved it, and by the time you and Al were born the family was making fun of us for sniffing our babies. I smell that.

“I smell your Dad’s favorite treacle tarts. I smell his magic, too. The flowers at the Manor. Mother’s perfume. That’s about it.” 

The whole time he’s been running a hand up and down Scorpius’ arm, lulling him into a sleepy doze right on his feet. When Father asks what he smells, he’s jolted back into wakefulness. 

Scorpius leans forward. “I also smell Nan’s perfume. I think, erm, the garden? The wood polish Lily uses on her upright. All the tall grass in the Burrow. That stupid jasmine rice Dad’s so obsessed with,” Father laughs, and Scorpius grins, “smoke from King's Cross. The potion Al tried to use to fix his hair all first year. The muggle salve you used to rub on our chests when we got sick, the kind we hated because it was all tingly? And something else. I can’t place it. Did I make the potion wrong?” 

“No, that happens sometimes. Do you have a crush you want to tell me about?” Father asks, a hint of teasing in his voice. 

“No! Ugh, Father, stop,” Scorpius says, rubbing his face to hide the flush rising on his cheeks. 

It’s true, but he’s always been especially susceptible to ribbing. Father doesn’t do it often, which just makes it worse.

“Watch me vanish this, now, Scorpius. You have some time yet before you learn this, but it never hurts to start early.” Father says, kindly allowing for a change in subject. 

He slowly moves through the wand placement, and then a softly worded _Evanesco_ has the cauldron completely empty, taking the smell of memories with it. 

“Seems like a bit of a waste.” Scorpius sighs. 

Father squeezes his shoulder. “Spending time with you is never a waste. Happy Boxing Day.” 

**II**

Slytherins tend to walk in packs, in Hogwarts’ halls. If their parents are to be believed, inter-house rivalries aren't as bad as they were, but Scorpius and Al have had their fair share of being hexed when their backs were turned, so walking to class together is a tradition even if they won’t be sitting next to each other in class. In the days leading up to the holiday, their classmates quickly became accustomed to seeing Lily pass them, toss her thick red hair and primly say, “Grandchild number two, grandchild number three,” only to grin widely when they chorused, “Grandchild number four,” back at her with grave sincerity. 

If they had time, they’d trade quick conversation about how much they were dreading it all, with Al weakly trying to convince them to give it a go. Now that they’re home, the roles have quickly reversed, with tender-hearted Al retreating into himself, Scorpius doing his level best to be a polite conversationalist, and Lily tentatively opening the door to her music for their grandfather to wordlessly listen to her practice.

Of all of them, Scorpius has to be the one who speaks with their grandfather the most, though he couldn’t tell anyone why. Each conversation is baffling and amusing, with Grandfather asking after one thing or the other in their life, and then barely containing his galvanized looks whenever the answer falls short. 

Scorpius learns that, were they “living the proper way,” they would have grown up associating with every child their age from an old, named family. 

“But I know most people in my year,” Scorpius points out, confused. 

“Yes, but it is important to form alliances. Friendships should work to mutual benefit.” Is grandfather’s exasperated answer, his neatly manicured fingers drumming a tattoo on his desk. 

“Sounds kind of like a transaction,” Scorpius says. 

“It is one.” Grandfather looks genuinely confused about what else it would be. 

He learns through photos and off-handed remarks that he looks a lot like Father did, at his age, aside from the hair that apparently needs to be tamed. He and Albus are fraternal, night and day, most similarities in expressions and turns of phrase. But they’d never outgrown the errant curls of their early youth. (Dad’s fault, Father says, ignoring the way his hair begins to spiral at the ends when he lets it grow out too long.)

He learns that there are “work-arounds” to marriage prospects and being a half-blood, especially if one shows particular drive and talent, because genetic diversity is important. Scorpius can’t help but snort at that one. 

“I think half of Slytherin house is related to us in some way because of you and Nan, actually,” he says, and is surprised when grandfather tilts a sardonic little smile his way.

“Do they try to take advantage of that quite often?” He asks. 

Scorpius laughs. “Yeah, sometimes. I think it’s more because we’re Potters than anything else.” 

This seems to sober him, and Scorpius is overtaken by the urge to flee, so he bids grandfather good night and scurries back to his room, his head filled with thoughts about transactions and blood purity.

**III**

James, unable to stay away from the gardens too long, happily accepts Scorpius as an assistant gathering materials for another of Father’s potions. 

“So you’re serious about the Unspeakable thing, then? Thought you said that just to get Grandfather off your back.” James laughs as they work. 

“It all seems very dashing, doesn’t it? And, it sounds like fun to be able to say ‘classified’ whenever you ask me a stupid question.” Scorpius jokes, elbowing him in the side.

“Hey,” James crows.

Scorpius elbows him again. Then he's blindsided when James turns around and then throws a handful of dirt right in his face. 

What was meant to be a quick and educational visit deteriorates into play fighting. 

Because Father has a sixth sense for when they’re up to no good, it doesn’t take long for their shouted insults to bring his wrath down on them. Scorpius is kicking himself for forgetting Father's brewery faces the cottage’s expansive backyard garden, with a window open to vent potentially dangerous fumes.

“ _Boys_ ,” Father says, severely, bursting through the back door, “if you trample my fluxweed, I’ll have you scrubbing cauldrons until you get back on the train. By hand.” 

Scorpius, who’d been extremely close to trying out Aunt Ginny’s beloved bat-bogey hex, immediately sits back on his knees. James wipes the dirt on his hands off onto his jeans, like that’s any less incriminating. 

Behind Father, the back door swings open, and out steps their Grandfather, which makes both of them tense up. “Draco, your ill-behaved progeny will not distract me from our conversation.” 

Father rounds on him, pointing his finger in Grandfather’s face. “Don’t you call my children ill-behaved. They’re lovely.” 

Because James can’t seem to take most things seriously, a delighted guffaw bursts from his chest. Scorpius bites his lip to contain his answering laugh.

“They are covered in mud.” Grandfather scoffs, dismissively. 

Father faces them again. “I sent you here to do a very simple task and you’ve almost ruined it. Why?” 

That stings a little, and tempers their amusement quickly. Scorpius glances over at James, who’s set his jaw the way he does when he’s staring down a bully at Hogwarts. 

“It was my fault, Father,” Scorpius says, “I provoked him--” 

“I’m the one who literally threw dirt first, it’s my fault.” James cuts in. 

Father breathes in through his nose. “I’m sorry, boys. I didn’t mean to speak to you that way. I’ve told you how I feel about the roughhousing in my garden, correct?” 

“Yes, Father,” they chorus, guiltily. 

“Did you get what I asked for?” 

“Yeah,” James says, reaching quickly behind him and presenting the bundles of dittany.

“Good. Please, if you want to beat the snot out of each other, you can very well ask me to take you to the Burrow. Understood?” 

Shamefaced, they nod. 

“Are you quite finished?” Grandfather hisses out. “Apologizing to children… what has the world come to!” 

“The world has moved past you, Lucius!” Father harrumphs, making an abortive outward gesture with his fingers splayed wide, like he can expel all the bad faith with his hands.

Grandfather sways back, steely eyes widening. Father orders them to their feet with an imperious _Up_ , fists on his hips. 

He takes the dittany from James, and then he covers his wrists with the sleeves of his jumper and busily wipes their faces clean one by one, tutting about how this is all Dad’s fault somehow. The familiar tingle of his magic runs over them both as he hits them with cleaning charm after cleaning charm. Scorpius grins. 

And then Father is jumping back, glancing down at their feet, where Lily’s favorite snake is curling lazily along his ankle.

“Merlin, why won’t this thing ever leave me be?” He scowls.

Code hisses up at them. James says, “She says you’re warm.” 

Scorpius bends down and asks her, nicely, for what must be the third time this week, to be careful around Father. As he rights himself, he locks gazes with Grandfather, who is staring at the both of them like he’s seen a ghost. 

“Oops,” James says, as Grandfather turns wordlessly on his heel and walks back into the cottage. 

Father presses his lips tightly together, visibly suppressing a surge of hilarity. Scorpius loves it when Father tries to hold in a laugh because it makes the small dimples he has especially pronounced, like a secret smile. James and Scorpius don’t even bother to try holding it in, and laugh hard enough that it has Scorpius hiccuping. Father bullies them back inside, shaking his head. 

  
  
  


**IV**

Scorpius catches Dad in the morning and asks if he can tag along to the restaurant, and Dad’s eyes light up as he says yes. He’d quit the Aurors expressly so he could spend more time with all of them, but there’s a private kind of fun in being the focus of Dad’s zeroed in attention on a work day. Dad’s got a commanding presence when he’s in his work headspace. If you tag along, you’ll be put to work, and there’s something soothing about the teamwork of cutting vegetables and chatting with the employees or working the front counter.

After a quick breakfast, Dad goes up to the master bedroom to kiss Father goodbye, and then pens a note for them to leave on the dining room table. 

“Ready, Scor?” He asks, raising his brows. 

Scorpius clasps a hand on his shoulder and grins. Dad hates the Floo, and other tight spaces. As a kid, the cottage’s walls seemed like they went on forever. Scorpius and his siblings built a resistance to side-along nausea from a young age. He feels that familiar tug tug _tug_ at his core, and then reality bends, and they’re at the backdoor of Potter’s, nestled comfortably along a corner of ever-expanding Diagon Alley.

The familiar sights and smells of the kitchen is a comforting heat, some familiarity amidst all the tense changes they’ve been undergoing. Scorpius can see something heavy leave Dad’s shoulders, and feels similarly. The staff for the day greet them cheerfully, and Scorpius gets his hair ruffled more than a few times. 

“With me, kid,” Dad says, wry fondness in his voice as he directs Scorpius to a chopping board. 

Scorpius is not bad at potions, but he’s abysmal at cooking outside of prep. He’s happy with this strength, because it means that Dad keeps a close eye to make sure he doesn’t start any fires as he cuts away and listens to the hustle and bustle of Potter’s coming to life. Dad claps his hands and his voice rings out clearly as he starts what Lily calls the kitchen orchestra, sending his army of white-clad staff this way and that as they get ready for opening. 

“Tell me something new,” Dad instructs him, something that always clears Scorpius’ mind.

“Headmistress McGonagall is thinking about pairing up Muggleborn students with students raised with magic to help a cultural exchange, I think. Sounds cool.” 

Dad hums, “Feel like she’s probably gonna get pushback for that one.” 

Scorpius laughs. “When she mentioned it at lunch there was a bit of complaining, yeah. Sounds like a good idea to me, but I don’t know how long she’d want it to last. Sounds like something that’d make Grandfather pop a vein.” 

Dad gives him a sidelong glance. “How has that been, by the way? Sometimes I feel like leaving you all alone with him is a bit like throwing you to the wolves.” 

Scorpius pushes over some neatly cut carrots, starts on the chives. Plock, plock, plock, a soothing rhythm, the smell rising to his nose. “I feel like every time we talk, I turn his world upside down.” 

Dad barks out a laugh. “His world was turned upside down a long time ago.” 

“I know, I just… I can’t help feeling like he’s disappointed he ended up with us. You know that thing Nan used to say all the time, ‘Children are a gift?’ I feel like we were regifted.” 

Dad says his name with so much sadness that Scorpius pauses, giving him a sheepish little look. 

“Lucius isn’t a good person,” Dad says, bluntly. “He’s learned a lot of hard lessons and yet always seems to end up the same on the other end of it all. I’ll talk to Father about it. For what it’s worth, though, having you guys is all I ever wanted, really.” 

Dad slings an arm around Scorpius’ shoulders. Scorpius leans into the embrace. He doesn’t doubt it. He’s heard dad speak maybe four sentences about the people who raised him, but there are little things that make him wonder. The way he only uses the Floo for firecalls, if that. The way he hates bullies. The way he always talks to them like they’re equals. His protective spirit. The way he smiles when Father calls him names and kisses him anyway. 

“Can I ask you something? About the war?” 

Dad lets out a little sigh. Scorpius can feel it billowing in his strong chest. “Sure.” 

“Did you ever think you’d end up with Father? In the middle of it all?” 

Dad carefully says, “I think... I loved him for a lot longer than I thought I did. But, no, to answer your question. For the longest time we were worlds apart. It took time to even make it to friendship. There was a lot of unlearning for both of us to do. Why do you ask?” 

Scorpius laughs, “Just wondering how Father ended up so nice.” 

Dad laughs with him. “Draco is only nice to you all. But he did change a lot, yeah.”

There’s a lot more to that, Scorpius thinks, but it’s something he tucks away for later. For now, he’s content to let his thoughts take the backseat to the very important job of cutting things up.

  
  
  


**V**

Teddy comes to visit, and it briefly feels like they’ve gone back in time. Lily squeals out his name in excitedly, shrieking with laughter as he pulls her off of her feet. James once joked with them that she liked Teddy better than she liked them. 

He trades hugs and laughter like he trades hair color, aquamarine blue to playfully mimicking Lily’s bright red to a simple brown, babbling happily away about his time at the Ministry. Work as an Auror suits him better than it ever suited Dad, Scorpius thinks, admiring the deep red of his robes as he steps out of the Floo and kicks his soot-covered boots out onto the carpet, which has Father’s nostrils flaring in the way that says he’s just aching to get the vacuum cleaner. It’s like they’re all younger kids playing around the cottage again, little adventures headed by Teddy and James, marching along in a tight little cluster of boisterous laughter and roleplay.

They all settle into the living room to catch up, Dad brimming with pride as Teddy recounts what he can share of his latest jobs. After there’s a lull in conversation, there’s a wry twist to Teddy’s lips as he asks, “Am I welcome here?” 

“Always,” Dad says, looking bemused at the question, but then he sees Father rolling his eyes and subsides with a little groan.

“Always,” he repeats, “How’s Grimmauld? Andromeda?” 

“Good, good. I think she’s getting tired of living with me though. She keeps making hints about how she should move out, but I don’t know how to say that I don’t really want her to,” Teddy replies, grinning sheepishly. 

Then a bright, verdant green creeps along his hair as he adds, “She’s been asking after Lucius.” 

“Why?” James asks, furrowing his brow. 

“Just wanting to know how he’s taking it all, I guess. She doesn’t think he’ll talk to her.” 

She’s not wrong, is what Scorpius does not say. Grandfather sneers at the mere mention of her, like he was in the family she’d left for love, like she and Nan hadn’t reconciled to the best of their ability before Nan was taken from them. 

“Maybe it’d be good for him, though,” Father hums, and then he glances at where they’re all watching intently and does not elaborate. 

Teddy and Dad seem to get it, and nod at each other. Adults spend a lot of time communicating with their eyes. 

“Grandfather’s not really good at talking about things when it’s not grandstanding,” Scorpius tells them. 

He means it, wholeheartedly and not as a joke, but the adults laugh again anyways. Father smiles at him. 

“Maybe we should change that.” 

It’s ringing in the back of Scorpius’ mind the next time he talks to Grandfather, over a peaceful enough time spent listening to Lily playing on the harp for them, her tongue sticking out the way it does when she hasn’t mastered a new song yet.

“Grandfather, have you thought about talking with Aunt Andromeda? She and Nan spent a lot of time together, you know, um. Before.”

Grandfather gives him an arch look. Then he glances over at where Lily has stopped plucking at her strings to give them a wide-eyed stare. 

“Another song, I should think, Lily Luna.” He suggests, like she’s there for their entertainment.

Lily flushes a bit and begins playing the fairy song from the games James likes to play, the one with the “elf” in green tunics roving around the land at the beck and call of some distant princess. It's the first song she learned on the harp, and something she usually only plays to clear her head.

“Lovely,” Grandfather says. 

If he knew it were a muggle’s composition, Scorpius bets he’d want her to stop immediately, no matter how lovely it is. The thought makes him laugh. 

“Just think about it,” he insists.

“My, your Father has allowed you all to grow into willful little creatures, hasn’t he?” Grandfather comments, apropos of nothing, one brow arched high. 

Scorpius grins. That’s probably a good thing. They’re everything Dad ever wanted, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview for next chapter:
> 
> Looking back, Lily is sure that it’s only because of her distinctive red hair that they’d been allowed into most places. Kids cotton on to more than most adults are willing to accept, and while she hadn’t understood why they’d been asked to go to the back sometimes, or suffer through especially long waits, she now knows the meaning of the tight little smile Nan would give her as they stood by. 
> 
> Lily would pass this time making funny faces or doing little dances to coax the real smile out of her. Making Nan laugh, really laugh, was always something she was always proud of. It’d been worth it to sit through Nan pressing dress after frilly dress into her arms, cooing and humming over what worked best.


	4. Lily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another early cleanup! 
> 
> I should be honest, writing this has been fun and cathartic for me. A dear friend of mine passed away about a year ago now and working through that has been difficult because I'm so busy. Quarantine has been challenging in many ways, but I'm grateful it at least sparked my creative spirit and has me writing fanfiction again. That said, while I think this fic can be sad at times, I hesitate to call it angst. It's mostly a story about family and family can be difficult sometimes.

**I**

They don’t trade words often--Lily doesn’t think there’s a person on Earth she has less in common with--but she and Grandfather do have genuinely peaceful moments thanks to music. 

Music is the only thing Lily is good at, really, that and punching her brothers, because you have to be good at that to grow up with boys and the whole of the Weasley family, and there’s a small part of her that feels a little victorious that Grandfather seems to take to her hobby without his usual snide remarks. 

She'll always wonder why the Sorting Hat got her and James’ houses backwards, and then frowns when she remembers how it’d laughed in her head and said “Another Potter? Ah, but you are unique, aren’t you? I know just where to place you,” and then bellowed out _Ravenclaw_ before she’d even had time to process what any of that even meant.

Lily doesn’t fancy herself smart, though she does work hard, if only because she doesn’t like letting people down. She’s just weird. When she was small, she’d have these loud, chaotic bursts of accidental magic, shattering windows and scaring neighbors and spelling herself into odd places. It’d felt like all the magic was too much, dancing just underneath the surface of her skin. Some of her earliest memories are being carted to and from friends and family, then mind healers and just regular healers, who’d ask her strange questions and have her feel for her magic. Sometimes she turned people’s skin different colors. Sometimes she’d mumble a word of discomfort and seal someone’s lips shut. Sometimes she’d blow them clear off their feet. They’d leave each meeting just as they started, baffled but kind, tousling her hair and giving her that pained smile adults put on when they don’t want you to think they’re worried. 

Music is the only thing that helped. Father sat her down in front of a piano he hauled in from the nearby Muggle music shop, soothingly speaking to her in French as he ran her through simple scales and the odd ditty. That’s where it all started, her hunger for finding new ways to make music, because how else can she focus it all?

“Are you all Parselmouths?” Grandfather asks Lily, completely out of the blue. 

She’d been running through practice on her viola, pacing aimlessly around her music room, with Grandfather settled into the plush corner chair he has come to favor, the one that lets him glance out of the window. Sometimes he transfigures a little table and writes, other times he lists off into a restless sleep, which she very pointedly does not acknowledge, figuring that he needs it and might snap at her if she hints at weakness. Today he has a muggle book perched in his lap, which he hasn’t seen fit to stop sneering down at.

“Er, yes? Why?” 

“I was under the impression that Potter lost the ability after the war,” Grandfather says, giving her a keen-eyed look.

“He didn’t,” Lily says, furrowing her brow, and is briefly and genuinely confused before she remembers something, “Oh, I guess he just doesn’t talk about it in public.”

“A surprisingly pragmatic decision.” Grandfather says, which is about the closest to a complement Daddy will ever get from him.

She feels a ruffle of her magic settle wobbly under her skin, trailing along her viola until it lets out a shrill burst of aimless sound, and flushes.

“What on Earth was that?” Grandfather asks. 

“Sorry, that happens sometimes. It’s--well, that is. Yeah, anyways,” and she goes back to playing, feeling like she’s under a microscope.

  
  


**II**

Lily has been having the same nightmare since Nan died, on and off. 

She’s pacing back and forth in Hogwarts, hoping that the Come and Go Room will appear for her, thinking, _I need to get away, I need to get away_. It feels like she paces for hours on end, fear growing in her chest. And then, just as she sees the curling imprint of the door materializing into existence in the castle wall, Nan calls her name, the same way she did that day, with so much fear in her voice. She hears it from behind her. Just as she’s about to glance over her shoulder, she awakens.

This time, it is Grandfather who calls for her. She doesn’t dare look back. 

She wakes up with a warbling, whining cry growing in her throat, and there’s a beat of silence before all of the low string lights she keeps in her bedroom flicker off and then burst, fragments tinkling down all around her. She flinches as it falls, and is considering attempting a banishing charm--she hasn’t quite mastered it yet and had banished James hair clean off his head the last time he tried to help her--before her door creaks open, and Daddy is staring at her with wide eyes. 

“Lily, are you alright?” He asks, voice dry with sleep. 

In her memories of the worst moments with her magic, Daddy is always there: gently stroking her hair after levitating her down from heights, or biting his lip to mask a laugh as he fixes so-and-so’s changed hair, or waving a hand and making everything right side up again. It's like he could feel it when it was about to happen.

(“We’re not so different, you and I,” He’d said, once, plucking grass out of her hair. She’d cut a neat little circle into the garden because Scorpius made her angry. Father hadn’t been upset with her for messing with his garden, just worried. Nothing grows in that circle, now, so Code and the other snakes like to curl up there for warmth when the sun gets high.)

“Watch out for the glass.” She whispers, and then she bursts into tears. 

Daddy waves a hand. She can feel the leftover glass lift from her bed and her floor, breaking in reverse, before her lights are restored and casts the both of them in a gentle green glow. Daddy’s always doing wandless, wordless magic in the house, and it’s never made her feel safer than it does now. He pulls her duvet back and hugs her tightly to his chest, stroking her hair. Once she’s calmed, he pulls back, wiping her face clear, uncaring of how gross it all is. He asks if she's hurt, gently checking her scratches, and then pulls her back into another hug when more tears slip down her face against her will.

“Want to come sleep with me and Father?” 

She nods, and doesn’t feel at all silly as he pulls her up into his arms. The door to her bedroom swings shut behind them. When they make it to the master bedroom, Father is sitting up and bed, rubbing his eyes. When he sees her, he holds his arms out for her. As Daddy gets ready for bed, Father asks her in French if she’s okay, if she wants any snacks, was it just a nightmare? She says yes, maybe some chocolate (Daddy leaves the room at once), and yes again. 

Daddy returns with some of his homemade sweets, and then she’s cocooned on either side by both parents in a way she hasn’t experienced in quite some time.

Father plays with her hair, tucking it behind her ear and pulling it this way and that, fascinated as always by the color. He and Nan had that in common, charmed by its brightness. 

“I miss when you used to braid my hair,” Lily tells him, “I can’t do the fishtail like you do.” 

“I’ll braid it for you all you want, love,” Father promises.

“How about I try?” Daddy asks. 

“Don’t you touch my daughter’s hair. You’ll get it all twisted up in knots,” Father scowls. 

“Honestly, Draco, you seen some of the things I cook. I think I can braid Lily’s hair just fine.” Dad laughs. 

Then he tries, fingers scoring gently through her scalp. She lets her eyes fall closed. After a moment, Father leans over to inspect it. He declares it absolutely dreadful, which makes her giggle, and breaks the odd hesitant tension lingering over the three of them as they laugh too.

“Can I visit Aunt Andromeda today?” She asks. Before they can offer to accompany her, she says, “I’ll take Kreacher.” 

Daddy says, “I’ll give her a Firecall and ask later. It’s pretty early.” 

“Harry, no, you hate the Floo,” Father protests, visibly worried. 

“It’ll be fine.” 

That’s apparently the end of that, but she can feel Father slide out of bed a few hours later--she’d fallen into a doze, but not quite a sleep, even with the two of them there--and when the sun finally rises, Daddy helps her out of bed and tells her she can make the visit.

She asks Kreacher if he’ll accompany her, knowing how much he likes to visit his old home, and he agrees with a grumbly, “If it please the Little Miss,” and before long she’s holding his hand and waving goodbye to her family before they step through the Floo. She catches Grandfather’s tight frown just before they end up on the other side in Grimmauld Place, with Aunt Andromeda standing there by the fireplace, her hands on her hips. 

“Hi, Auntie,” Lily says. 

Kreacher gives them both a little bow and then scuffles off. They’re all used to his visits, his sporadic cleaning and muttering, the visits he makes with the portrait no one in the family had the heart to get rid of, even after they’d destroyed what Daddy insists was a truly macabre collection of dark artefacts and suchlike. 

Aunt Andromeda and Nan didn’t really look like each other as much as Aunt Andromeda looked like their other sister, the one Lily has only ever seen in photos, the one who’d caused so much pain. They have the same dark, curly hair and heart-shaped face, but Aunt Andromeda’s hair is streaked with grey and her resting expression is this wry little smile, accentuated by laugh lines when it grows. 

“Hello, my little flower,” she says, holding her arms out for a hug. 

Lily scurries over and hugs her as tight as she can, stubborn tears springing to her eyes again when she feels Aunt Andromeda lean down and kiss her atop her head. 

“I hear you had a rough night?”

“I miss Nan,” Lily blurts out. 

“Oh, dear girl. Me too.” 

Lily is this close to telling the truth about what happened that day. She’s been harboring the feeling that maybe it’s her fault. The dreams don’t make it any better, and Grandfather’s quiet presence has cemented some ugly feeling in her chest. Instead, she asks Aunt Andromeda to tell some stories of her and Nan’s childhood.

“It can’t be easy, having Lucius around. I always remember him being very prickly.” Aunt Andromeda says, at length. 

They’d migrated to the dining room table to play a leisurely game of exploding snap as Kreacher prepares a light lunch for them. 

“He’s so mean! And we never talk.” Lily complains. 

Aunt Andromeda laughs. “That’s new. Lucius loves the sound of his own voice. I was wondering why he wasn’t responding to my letters.” 

“You sent letters?” 

“Your Father thinks it would help him for us to talk. But I’m not sure how much time he’d give to a blood traitor,” Aunt Andromeda says, wryly. 

Lily purses her lips. “That’s all so silly. Daddy’s not a pureblood and he’s the strongest wizard in the whole world.” 

Aunt Andromeda smiles at her. “I know, flower. But when you grow up a certain way, it’s hard to let things go. You’d think the war would have made it a bit easier, but I guess… after Narcissa, maybe sticking to what he knows is less scary.”

That sounds stupid. She tells Aunt Andromeda that, which makes her laugh loudly. 

They’re interrupted by Teddy coming into the house. When he sees her at the table, he grins, his purple hair rippling into Lily’s bright red. “Is that my favorite cousin? And my favorite grandma?” 

He gives them both kisses of greeting, and squeezes Lily into a warm hug, smelling as always of the slight ozone of heavy magic. He joins them for their card game, not even bothering to change out of his work robes, talking happily about his day. He and Aunt Andromeda have that same resting smile, that same kind but funny manner. How Grandfather could ever look at the two of them and see them as anything less than what they’re worth, Lily will never know.

**III**

A lot of the older photos of Lily in the house have her in one silly looking dress or another. When she was growing up, Nan cherished the opportunity to sweep her in and out of whatever dressmaker would stand the presence of a Malfoy. 

Looking back, Lily is sure that it’s only because of her distinctive red hair that they’d been allowed into most places. Kids cotton on to more than most adults are willing to accept, and while she hadn’t understood why they’d been asked to go to the back sometimes, or suffer through especially long waits, she now knows the meaning of the tight little smile Nan would give her as they stood by. 

Lily would pass this time making funny faces or doing little dances to coax the real smile out of her. Making Nan laugh, really laugh, was always something she was always proud of. It’d been worth it to sit through Nan pressing dress after frilly dress into her arms, cooing and humming over what worked best.

“You have gorgeous hair, darling,” she’d say, whenever Lily got huffy, playfully running her hands through it. 

(Green is her color, Nan said, mostly because it made her hair pop and her eyes gleam, so Lily takes to wearing it after her passing. She doesn’t miss the dresses or the bulky robes, but she’ll keep the color.)

The day Nan got hurt, they’d been making the rare trip to Diagon Alley for robes. Lily hasn’t been gaining any of the height her brothers seem to be getting every time the sun shines, so she hadn’t needed anything new, not really. But she liked to make Nan smile, and she definitely liked having her all to herself, so she’d agreed happily enough. 

She’d gotten a bad feeling the moment they stepped into the shop. The keeper frowned at the sight of Nan, who’d held her head high as usual and asked if they needed to take their business elsewhere. Lily, gripping onto her hand tightly, squeaked out a hello and grinned as widely as she dared, and like she was expecting, the shopkeeper's face softened. 

It’d been a simple enough time, some worker measuring Lily for school and dress robes, as Nan extracted promises from Lily to write letters during the school year. She’d insisted on at least one green robe, Slytherin green, much to the annoyance of the worker, and she’d laughed at Lily’s sly comment about how maybe they should wear matching ones, and then she’d seen him: a man, just over Nan’s shoulder, gaunt-faced and skinny with his wand held high, lips curling nastily around a curse. And Lily--Lily had one of her moments, with her magic, unable to rein it in, scared half out of her mind, and sent him hurling towards the windows with one percussive burst, but it hadn’t been enough to stop that wasting curse from twisting its ugly green way into Nan’s back as she called out Lily’s name. Later, when she’d woken up in St. Mungo’s, she’d lied, and said she didn’t remember anything, knowing that she probably wouldn’t forget that day for the rest of her life. 

It’d been an awful summer, going back and forth to a mind healer, and then coordinating times to see Nan when Grandfather wasn’t there, watching Father struggle to hold on to his composure as he watched his mother lose her grip on life. Uncle Ron, a senior Auror, later told them she’d been hit with a new curse and favorite of Death Eater sympathizers, something that attaches itself to the brain and systematically tears about that which makes magic _tick_. The Ministry added it to the list of Unforgivables. Aunt Hermione's been engaged in a flurry of medical research ever since.

Lily was not there when Nan passed. Professor Flitwick had assigned a composition assignment to the Orchestra over the summer, and she’d wanted to compose something that would make Father smile. She ended up playing it (a lilting cello piece) for him after the funeral, and he’d hugged her to him for a good long while, as sad as she’d ever seen him.

Nan wrote letters for all of them, and she still hasn’t opened hers yet. It’s still tucked into her Steinway’s strings, not heavy enough to disrupt them very much, but sometimes she needs to press a key just a little harder than usual and it makes her think about Nan’s breathy laugh.

  
  


**IV**

Aunt Luna pops her head through their fireplace and has them all jumping, but then they all calm down once they realize who it is and Lily can feel herself smiling in relief. 

Ever since she was little, Aunt Luna stops by and checks in with her, asking after her health and music. There’s a little column The Quibbler keeps on her, called Lily Luna’s Corner, something Daddy and Father only agreed to because they trust Aunt Luna, it’s cute, and is mostly confined to a brief interview about what’s on her mind and where her music is taking her. Al has been collecting cutouts of the column for years, a record of her in photos and short sentences. They always take a photo of her standing beside the piano and smiling. Lily looks over the collection sometimes and marvels at missing teeth and short hair and big smiles. 

“Hello, Lily. Are you ready to share your wisdom with us?” 

“Yes! Come on through!” 

Aunt Luna tilts her little half smile at her and briefly pops back out, and then she’s stepping into their living room, elegant and unruffled as ever. Today, her earrings are chattering little chipmunks, and she’s wearing a very pretty pink muggle sundress, even though they’re currently knee-deep in winter. 

James, Al, and Scorpius join Lily as she approaches for a hug. Aunt Luna always gives them all separate hugs, then cups their faces gently as she checks them over quite seriously for wrackspurts. Aunt Luna is still examining Lily when she says, “Hello, Lucius. Your hair looks quite healthy. I was worried it’d stay greasy after the war.” 

James poorly hides a snort of laughter into his elbow. Behind them, Grandfather quirks an unpleasant smile Aunt Luna’s way. 

“Miss Lovegood. How wonderful to see you,” He deadpans. 

“Scamander, actually, but I’m sure you already knew that.” Aunt Luna says, breezily. 

They call Father down from his brewery, who kisses Aunt Luna’s cheeks in greeting, unfazed by Grandfather’s astonished looks. Lily feels like Grandfather does half his talking with his face. Aunt Luna asks if she can take them all out for lunch, after Lily’s interview, which Father agrees to so quickly that Lily wonders if he’s been just waiting to get them out of the house. Then she sees that his quill is tucked behind his ear, and his hair’s going all curly at the ends, and figures he probably had to put some potions breakthrough on stasis to check on them. Lily gives him a brief hug, smiling as he leans down and distractedly kisses her forehead before nodding at Grandfather and pacing back up the stairs to his brewery. 

“Suck up,” Al jokes, and Lily sticks her tongue out at him. 

They disperse, Lily heading to her music room. She’s not very surprised when Grandfather follows, the distinctive click of his walking stick hitting the floor behind them.

“Grandfather listens to me play sometimes,” Lily explains, unsurprised when Aunt Luna materializes a pen and pad and begins scribbling away. She takes her usual place, sitting beside Lily at her upright, the sunlight beaming in through the windows hitting the pale gold of her eyelashes fetchingly. 

“So, lots of changes for you. How is Ravenclaw, a year later?” 

It’s a normal enough conversation. Before long, Lily’s residual nervousness has faded, and they’re going through the motions. Lily plays her newest song, which she knows will be subject to Aunt Luna’s colorful descriptions, and then Lily asks if Al can take her picture this time with his new camera, and he’s so pleased to be asked that he barely seems to know what to do with himself. He takes her picture, and then Aunt Luna’s, and then he calls them all into Lily’s music room for photos. Grandfather, bemused, follows his instructions, posing this way and that. He even gets a picture of Grandfather and Father, standing a few feet apart, angling similar half-smiles at the camera. They look worlds apart, Father messy and indulgent, Grandfather stalwart and proud. Lily loves it. Al promises to send copies of all of them to Aunt Luna. It’s the most they’ve ever shared a room with each other, and she almost wishes Daddy were here and not at the restaurant, but she has a feeling that Grandfather would never have agreed to this if he weren’t. 

  
  
  


**V**

They’re going back to school soon. 

They’ve built a little routine, in this odd Christmas break. They spend time together, and sometimes one of them will accompany Daddy to the restaurant, and they stop by the Burrow and play around with the family until they’re sore and their bellies are aching from Molly’s food and how much they’ve laughed, and then they come home for dinner. Grandfather will engage one of them in frustrating conversation--or in Lily’s case, none at all--and then retreat into his room, visited mostly by healers. He ignores Daddy completely, and sometimes frustrates Father so much that he’s summarily banished from all the rooms he frequents. He’s kind of miserable and out of place. So she decides to pose the question when it’s quiet.

“So, Grandfather. Sometimes Nan would take me shopping for clothes.” 

“So she did,” Grandfather says, looking at her with what she thinks is way too much suspicion.

“Will you take me? We’re going back to school soon and I could use some dress robes for the orchestra.” 

She has more than enough dress robes for the orchestra.

“I’m not here to replace your grandmother,” he tells her, lowering his folded newspaper and frowning severely at her.

“Nobody could ever replace Nan.” Lily mumbles.

“It might not be safe.” He counters. 

“So Daddy can come with us.” She suggests.

He looks at her for a long time. She thinks he’s going to say no, so she lets out a nervous laugh and wrings her hands, looking around the music room for something to start playing. Maybe the guitar today? 

“If Potter agrees, then I shall take you.” He says, at length. 

She thinks maybe he’s counting on Daddy saying no, but Daddy is not _that_ petty, and he’s always been particularly gentle with her, so that is how they find themselves shopping for dress robes. They don’t go to Diagon Alley--aside from the restaurant, Lily hasn’t been able to stomach the thought of going there for a while--but to a nice little place Nan liked on the other side of wizarding London, a family-owned business that had never had any particular qualms with serving her. The owner smiles when she sees Lily, and then her eyes widen as Daddy steps in after her and then Grandfather, looking distinctly peaky from the apparition over. 

Daddy pulls the owner into a friendly chat as Lily pulls Grandfather from one end of the store to another, asking after the difference in this or that stitch, and what color works best for what occasion, and which one does he think will look best? To her surprise, he tucks his walking stick underneath his arm and begins to pluck some things off of racks, pressing them wordlessly into her arms. He does it insistently, with none of Nan’s cajoling or commentary, but he participates, waiting patiently for her to step out of the dressing room. A decisive nod means she’s keeping it, and a sneer means it’s going back to the rack. By the time they’re done, she leaves with four new robes and one nice winter dress, and when she thanks him for coming, Grandfather gives her that same little half smile he’d leveled at Al’s camera. 

“Erm. Thanks for that, Lucius,” Daddy says, once they’re home. 

“We can’t have expected you to have the taste needed for such a trip, can we?” Grandfather asks, and it’s mean, but it’s also the first time Lily thinks she’s heard them exchange words, so it makes her smile anyway. 

Daddy rolls his eyes. He pinches Lily’s cheek, quick and playful, and takes her new clothes up to her room. 

“Father makes fun of Daddy all the time for not knowing how to dress without him.” Lily says, not wanting the moment to end. 

“Does he?” 

“Yes, if it were up to Daddy he’d just wear jeans and graphic t-shirts all the time.” 

“And what about you?”

“Well,” Lily says, shrugging, “I like the color green.”

“Narcissa did say it suits you.” 

Lily smiles, but that familiar sting of guilt hits her at the same time.

She dares to reach out and take his hand so she can lead him to the music room. Whenever she tries to talk about what happened with Nan that day, her throat closes right up, like the time she’d figured out she had an allergy to raspberries. Maybe she can start making up for it in other ways, bit by bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview for next chapter: 
> 
> Harry snorts. “Take it a bit further, I don’t think he’s happy we married at all.” 
> 
> “Well, that’s a given, dear. Do keep up...” 
> 
> “You’re insufferable.” 
> 
> Draco opens his eyes and raises a brow at him. “You don’t mean that. I seem to remember you saying you love me.” 
> 
> “Who knew?” Harry says, cherishing the little laugh they share.


End file.
